Tough Love
by XNoWorries782x
Summary: This is about how love can turn to something no one ever wants


Tough Love  
  
People sometimes ask the question, "why me," when they are going through hard times. I know I asked myself that question everyday for about four years. I believe everything happens for a reason and everyone you met comes into your life so that they can help or teach you in some way or vice versa. When I was seven years old, about a year after my parents got a divorce, my father got remarried to a woman who I quickly began to call mommy. As innocent as this was, I sometimes wonder if I possibly put the wrong idea into her head that she was my one and only mother, for she would do anything to make me think so. Though living with her was one of the worst experiences of my life I can look back on that time and know without it I would not be who I am today. It all began when my real mother decided she wanted to move to a different part of the city. Though it wasn't far, about a half hour drive, my step mother and father set out to convince my younger sister and I that my mother was trying to steal us away form them. I don't really remember how long it took for the brain washing to turn from, "We don't want to change schools," to ",We don't want to live with mommy anymore," but eventually this is what I was telling the counselor assigned to our custody case. My sister and I were dragged in and out of different counselor's offices on a regular basis. I always hated it because on the way there we would get drilled about what we were going to tell the "doctor" and what we weren't going to tell her. Then on the way home we would have to tell them everything that we had said and hope that it was satisfactory for fear of igniting anger resulting in hysterics. The worst was when my step-mother would tell us how terrible our mother was, and all the horrible things which she had supposedly done. She would then start in a tirade of how we weren't trying hard enough to live with her and my father. We would be blamed for the money problems that they were having because they were wasting all of their money on lawyers to go to court to fight for custody. How dare we not tell our mother we didn't want to live with her? I remember waiting outside of school for my step-mother to pick me up and knowing she would ask the usual question ", did you tell her?" and me being petrified of having to say no. After a while anything would set her off, not picking up a towel, not smiling enough, smiling too much. She would explode in bitter anger and make everyone in the house hysterical. When my father would try and keep her from hitting my sister and me he would get a bloody nose. One time I betrayed her when I confessed to one my best friends in eighth grade that my step mom was telling me to destroy my moms house so that she would kick my sister and I out. My friend, worried about me, told her father and her father called my mother. When I had to tell this story to my father and step-mother I was petrified beyond belief. She raised her hand but instead of hitting me decided to pull my television down in hopes it would crush me, who was sitting right beneath it. She then told me I wasn't welcomed in her house any longer and pulled many of my clothes out of the closet and threw them down the stairs and pushed me down with them. I spent that night in a hotel with my father and my sister. The next day at school the two bruises on both of my arms got a lot of attention and I was called to the guidance counselor's office. I told them my dog had done it just like my father instructed. "You know she loves you and didn't mean it," he told me "; she was just very upset about what you did." Of course it was my fault. With everyday and every month that passed the outbursts came from more and more ridiculous reasons and the verbal and physical abuse more potent. But with this also came my ability to stand up to her, realize it wasn't my fault, and that I wasn't doing anything wrong. I would stand up to her; dismiss her as a drunken person who didn't know what they were saying. One morning I went into her room to kiss her good bye before I went to school. She was bedridden for some unexplainable reason once again; perhaps all the pills she had taken the night before had taken affect. When I leaned down the belly button ring I had gotten about seven months earlier, which I had been keeping a secret, came out of the bottom of my shirt and she noticed. Once again I felt that choking fear, and once again a tirade began. She told me I was a slut and belonged on Nebraska Avenue. (That was the street known to be occupied by prostitutes) Suddenly I didn't care what she said anymore, I looked down at her and said ", I'm going to school," and walked out. I went back there a few times, but eventually stopped all together. Though it was a terrible experience I am glad I can look back and know I wouldn't have changed a thing, for I learned from my step mother how to stand up for myself and not to let anyone control me with fear. With out my step-mother a lot of the things I prize most about myself would not be there and in some way I want to thank her for the life lesson she didn't even know she gave me. 


End file.
